


The Ground Rules

by kraken_creature



Series: Ineffably Ever After [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Swap, Cute, Funny, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Missing Scene, a bit flirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 18:17:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20012713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kraken_creature/pseuds/kraken_creature
Summary: Missing scene from the Good Omens TV series: Aziraphale and Crowley work out the kinks in their body swap before parting to face the wrath of Heaven and Hell.





	The Ground Rules

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on from my work, "In One Night" (link below), but it also works if you haven't read that. All of my Ineffably Ever After pieces can slot together or work fine alone.

Crowley was sat on the bed. He leaned back, propped on one arm, sprawling with his legs apart. He watched as Aziraphale adjusted his bowtie and brushed away unnoticeable wrinkles in his jacket and waistcoat.

“Ready?” Crowley asked.

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale replied reluctantly.

“This was your idea, angel.”

“I know, I know. It’s just so…”

“Odd,” Crowley finished. He felt just as disquieted by the prospect of what they were about to do, but smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be fine. It’s a good idea.”

Crowley patted the mattress next to himself. Aziraphale walked the short distance and sat beside him, primly, his hands on his knees.

“Ready?” Crowley asked again.

This time Aziraphale nodded. He extended his hand and Crowley took it in his. For a moment nothing happened, but it seemed to do it particularly slowly. They took a deep breath, synchronised, and as they exhaled there was a distinct _wobble_. Crowley felt his weight shifting, his view of the room changing slightly, as Aziraphale became aware of a new length about himself. They turned to each other slowly, still holding hands.

Crowley looked out at his own face and scrutinised it. The body swap seemed to have worked. The eyes that peered back at him were concerned, the brow drawn. It was an odd expression to see on himself.

Aziraphale tilted his- Crowley’s- head from side to side as he examined his own face on Crowley. Slowly, he looked down at his new form, along the large hands and muscled arms, down the dark shirt on the lean frame, and along the spindly legs in jeans that were, in his own view, scandalously tight fitting.

“Well, it seems to have-” Aziraphale stopped short and rolled his tongue around his mouth. “New teeth. That's weird.”

“Give it a second,” Crowley said, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand.

“Oh, I do feel rather odd.” Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand and leaned forward, putting his forearms on his thighs and his head between his new, skinny knees.

“Just breathe. Everything’s there- all the working, meaty _bits_. You just need to get acclimatised.”

Aziraphale smiled slightly. “Meaty bits? Really, Crowley!”

“Lungs, heart, spleen, probably an appendix, all of it. Just let it do its thing. The human body works automatically. Just focus on staying me-shaped and let the body do its own thing.”

Aziraphale felt very aware of the expansion of lungs as they inhaled, of the beat of the heart and the whoosh of the blood in the veins. He had got used to these things in his own human body and had not had these problems in Madame Tracy’s body (having felt that it would be indiscreet to interfere in a lady’s private functions) but he could not help being conscious of them now. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in and out, in and out. The pulse faded to a background noise. He became less aware of his heartbeat. “I’ll be alright in a moment,” he managed.

“Course you will. You’re just not used to it. You don’t get out much, do you?”

“Out of my body? No. I like my body. I was most upset to lose it yesterday. It’s _comfortable_.”

“I like it too.”

Aziraphale looked up slowly. Crowley had moved to stand in front of the full-length mirror. He was turning from side to side, studying himself, an uncanny leer on the usually soft features. Aziraphale chuckled, which sounded unfamiliar on Crowley’s voice. He chuckled again at the thought of it. Crowley turned.

“Feeling better then?”

“Getting there,” Aziraphale said. He sat up straight on the bed and laced the long fingers of his temporary hands together.

“Good. Wouldn’t want you breaking anything while you’re in there.”

“Such concern," he snipped playfully. "I'm touched.”

Crowley smirked. He tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck, and looked around the room. He looked down at his hands, turning them over and examining them closely. Suddenly he said, “What are the glasses for?”

“Glasses?”

“Yeah. Your readers,” he said, looking up. “The eyes seem fine.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms defensively. “I like them, that’s all.”

Crowley shrugged. He knew better than to push the matter. He began to pace the room, feeling out his new legs. Slinking didn’t seem to work. He clasped his hands behind his back and fell into a natural rhythm, his shoulders straight. It seemed that this body knew how to be Aziraphale. For Crowley, it was like following a well-worn path that he had never actually walked before. After a moment he stopped again, mindful of one other difference that he hadn’t yet explored. “That’s _interesting_ ,” he said.

“What now?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley looked down the length of his torso. He slipped one thumb under the waistband of the trousers, pulling them away from himself, and held the shirt and waistcoat flat to his stomach, trying to peer past them. He grinned. “That’s _very_ interesting.”

“What on Earth are you doing?” Aziraphale blustered.

“Just lookin’.”

“Well mind that’s all you do.”

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale and wiggled his eyebrows.

“And be sure you look with your eyes, Crowley, not with your hands!”

Crowley let go of the trousers and raised both his hands, palms out defensively. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yet.”

His expression softened, cheekily. “Don’t worry. You’ll give me wrinkles. Besides, that’s all a lot less interesting when you’re not in it.”

“Hmph.”

Aziraphale was, however, now even more aware of the ridiculous constriction of Crowley’s choice of trousers. He stood up and began to walk about the room to distract himself and, besides, he reasoned that he needed practice with those long, unfamiliar legs. He wobbled uncertainly with every step.

“How do you steer this?” Aziraphale complained.

“What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. “These hips move _far_ more than mine.” He made it sound like an accusation.

“Try yoga then,” Crowley said dismissively.

“It has nothing to do with yoga as you well know, you old serpent.”

“Couldn’t hurt though,” Crowley persisted. “All those bends and stretches. Now that would be something to see.” He turned to the mirror again and arched his back experimentally, then folded forward in a deep bend. “Not bad,” he said admiringly as he touched his toes.

Aziraphale ignored him. He was now managing to stand and walk without feeling drunk and was not willing to let his concentration drop. Crowley stood up and watched. After a moment Aziraphale stopped in front of him.

“Perhaps we need some ground rules,” Aziraphale said. “You know. Guidance.”

“Hmmm,” Crowley said. He circled Aziraphale, watching him closely. Crowley was more used to changing his form than Aziraphale was. The angel was consistent and reluctant to change, whereas Crowley quite enjoyed experimenting with his look: a different style, different gender, different hair, inconsequential things mostly. But it was an odd feeling to look at his own body from the outside. He could feel Aziraphale inside it. He would recognise his angel anywhere.

“Rule one,” Crowley said. “No snacking. No eating. It’d be a dead giveaway.”

“Fine,” Aziraphale said, more than a little put out. He had been quite fancying a pastry for breakfast but realised now, much to his own surprise, that this body was not in the least bit hungry. A lack of appetite should make it easier to not be himself. He thought about Crowley’s usual habits and said, “Rule two: no sleeping. And no cussing.”

“Agreed,” Crowley said easily. He knew that he could go without sleep; he simply liked it. He also enjoyed swearing and blaspheming without at all needing to do it, in much the same way as humans.

“Rule three: don’t get handsy,” Aziraphale said, thinking back to the lewd expressions that Crowley had already made with his face.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Same to you, then.”

“Really!” Aziraphale huffed.

“Oh, don’t pout.” Crowley paused. He stopped to one side of Aziraphale. “Actually, do pout. I do that. It’s good.”

Aziraphale beamed and turned to Crowley. “Really? Oh thank you, I thought it-”

“Nope. Far too cheerful now. That’s not me at all.”

Aziraphale deflated slightly.

There was a pause. Neither could think of anything else to nag the other about. Suddenly it occurred to them both: “No miracles!” they cried at once.

“No temptations,” Aziraphale continued, lifting a warning finger.

Crowley mirrored the warning action. “And no blessings for you.”

“Absolutely. No magic at all until this is done.”

“Right.” Crowley nodded. “Now show me your best me impression. Move about a bit.”

Aziraphale shifted his weight to one hip. He let his shoulders slouch slightly and ran a hand through his hair. Slowly, he walked over to the nightstand and took up Crowley’s sunglasses and slipped them on. He sat on the bed and leaned back, a little awkwardly, spreading his knees. At this he blushed. He looked up at Crowley.

“Not bad. Don’t get embarrassed though. And try to slink more when you walk.”

“I really don’t think I can,” Aziraphale said.

“Fine. It’ll do.”

“Now you,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley straightened his shoulders again. He paced about the room with his hands clasped behind his back. When he turned to Aziraphale he smiled warmly and came to sit two feet from him on the bed, perching carefully, his knees together. He straightened his bow-tie and the lines of his coat and turned to Aziraphale. In a new, more clipped accent he said, “So what do you think, my dear? Will I pass?” The effect was unsettling.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. He stretched his neck, buying time, and concentrated on Crowley’s usual drawl. When he spoke it sounded convincing: “Weeeeell, it’ll do.” He hesitated before saying, “angel.”

Sadness swiftly gathered on Aziraphale’s brow. Calling Crowley by his own usual name had unnerved him. What if this illusion didn’t fool their respective sides? What if they were caught? If either one of them let their act slip then both of them would be uncovered. If this did not work perfectly, or if Heaven or Hell were even slightly more inventive than they believed them to be, this would all fail. Failure would be the end for them both. He might never again hear Crowley call him ‘angel’. They might never be together again. He took off Crowley’s glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Crowley shuffled across the bed toward him and took his free hand, petting it.

“It’s alright, love,” Crowley said, the accent now gone again. “It’ll work.”

He nodded. “It has to.” They didn’t have a Plan B. He smiled weakly at Crowley. “What do we do now? I rather think we have to split up for the day. Give them a chance to make their move.”

Crowley nodded. He paused. “What would you do today, if you were you?”

“I suppose I’d be in the bookshop.”

“It burned, though. Remember?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “I’d still be there, looking for any volumes that are intact, assessing the damage. Will you be quite alright doing that?”

Crowley didn’t relish the idea of going back to the burnt bookshop. The loss he had felt in the fire the previous day weighed on him again, but for this plan to work- for him to not again suffer the loss of Aziraphale- he would do anything. “I’ll go.”

“And what shall I do?” Aziraphale asked.

“I dunno. I’d probably water the plants. Watch TV.”

“Right. Very good.”

“And let’s meet at the park, say at 2 o’clock. Unless we’re otherwise detained, of course.”

“Of course.”

They both stood and, holding hands still, walked to the front door. Crowley reached for the door handle and paused. He could feel Aziraphale’s apprehension and couldn’t stand to leave him like that. He trusted their plan. He trusted it fiercely, with all of his imagination and willpower. He had to trust it. But, in case something went wrong, he also couldn’t let this be their last moment. He turned, stepping swiftly into the space between them, and took Aziraphale’s other hand in his.

“Close your eyes, angel,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale hesitated, then closed his eyes. He felt the warmth of Crowley’s hands in his and, behind it, another kind of warmth radiated out. Love. Even through Crowley’s demon form, Aziraphale could feel his love. He breathed in deeply and sighed. Crowley squeezed his hands. He leaned into the last gap between them and kissed Aziraphale, as gently as the brush of a feather.

“I love you,” he said. “Be safe.”

And then Crowley was gone.

Aziraphale opened his eyes. He stood alone in the apartment, with Crowley’s terrified plants, and with no idea how to turn on the television.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that's a Tenth Doctor reference in there. Had to, really.


End file.
